


Fridge is for Food, Not Body Parts

by psychoffic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fridge Horror, Friendship/Love, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Prompt Fic, Sherlock is a Mess, Snacks & Snack Food, Tea, Upset John Watson, mini cooler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29187279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychoffic/pseuds/psychoffic
Summary: “I disagree. “ John opened the cooler, showing off the three racks it had inside, “Fridge is for food, not body parts.”Prompt: John buys Sherlock a mini cooler for all his body parts.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Fridge is for Food, Not Body Parts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [call_me_Nimueh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_Nimueh/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Холодильник предназначен для Еды, Не Для Частей Тел](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375937) by [Avasonta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avasonta/pseuds/Avasonta)



> This short piece is inspired by a prompt given to me by call_me_Nimueh. The request got lost in my inbox a year ago, and I found it once more. I did my best, hope you like it Nimueh. 
> 
> I am accepting prompt requests, comment below if you are interested! Enjoy!
> 
> This fic has been translated into Russian by the lovely Avasonta!

It was the middle of the night when John awoke suddenly. His hands reached out, grasping at thin air. He took in a few gasping breaths, steadying his heartbeat. It was another dream about Afghanistan. He had them regularly when he arrived in London. It had gotten better with Sherlock, but some still snuck up on him. 

John laid back down, staring at the ceiling. He debated if he should try to go to bed again. His hand shook my side, tremoring against the bedsheet. Perhaps not yet. Maybe a nice cuppa of tea would help calm him down. With a resigned sigh John got up, throwing on a robe and shuffling downstairs. 

The living room was dark, except for the little light moonlight provided. John yawned, flicking on the lights. 

“Jesus fuck!” John yelped. His hand came up to rest over his heart as he gazed at Sherlocks familiar figure sitting on the couch. The man was staring at the fireplace, his skin pale as a ghost. He did not even flinch as the lights turned on, the only sign of him being alive being the dilation of his pupils. 

John waddled over, passing his hand in front of the detectives eyes a few times. He got no response. Perhaps he was in his Mind Palace. 

“Oh, Sherlock.” John sighed. Turning, he walked into the kitchen. The sink was a mess, piled with dirty dishes while a chemistry experiment occupied the table. John did not bother cleaning the mess, knowing if he touched anything Sherlock would chew him out. Picking up the kettle he filled it with water and placed it on the stove. Quickly John fished out some tea bags and two cups. He would make a cuppa for Sherlock, in case the man chose to wake up. 

John cast another glance at the detective. He was still as a statue. John rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter. As the kettle began to warm up John felt his stomach rumble out, requesting a snack. At this time of night, at his age, a snack was really a bad idea. John did not need any more extra poundage, especially with the dangerous lifestyle he led with Sherlock. His stomach gave another growl. Well, maybe just a little snack. He had brought home a small piece of cake earlier that day, it should still be in the fridge. 

The soldier walked over to the fridge, opening it up. “Fuck!”

John stumbled back, his hands once again over his heart. The head of a young man stared back at him, illuminated in a horrifying manner by the fridge lights. His eyes were pale and glazed over, staring at John. An arm, that most likely belonged to the head, was placed up top, and a piece of leg was splayed out on the bottom shelf. John was fuming, staring at the body parts in the fridge. A place for food, not for Sherlocks bloody experiments. 

“Sherlock!” John yelled out, turning around. The man did not even flinch at his name. John repeated himself. Nothing. 

John looked back at the fridge, he spotted his piece of cake in a plastic container, sitting behind the head. He wasn't hungry anymore. Slamming the fridge door with more force than necessary John hobbled to the kettle. Carefully he poured himself a cuppa, pointedly ignoring the other cup he had picked out for Sherlock. Quickly he hobbled past Sherlock, turning off the lights and casting the detective into darkness. John shuffled up the stairs, where he quickly drank his tea and went to bed once more. The dead eyes of the young man in his fridge haunted him the rest of the night. 

\---

The next day John shuffled out of the apartment, past Sherlock who was still unmoved on the couch. He decided to pick up breakfast from the bakery next door. Not willing to go near that head and its body parts again. Today he was in a rush.

With hurried footsteps John made his way to the nearest shopping center. There, a chirpy employee greeted him. “How may I help you sir?”

“I am looking for storage, like a fridge, but smaller?”

“Hmm,” The employee frowned thoughtfully, glancing around, “Perhaps a mini fridge? A cooler box?”

“Yes, something like that.” John nodded. The employee led him down a few aisles before stopping in front of the fridges lined up in a perfect row. They walked down the aisle, the fridges getting smaller and smaller as they continued. 

“How about this one?” She pointed at a fridge that was up to John's waist. 

“Too big.”

‘Hmm, what about… this one?” 

This time she pointed at a mini cooler. It was a bright blue color, reaching up halfway up John's thighs. It had small silver handles and a sticker that guaranteed two years warranty. John assessed it carefully. It was large enough to say, store an arm. But small enough for him to carry home and fit into the kitchen. Perfect.

“I'll take it.”

\---

When John arrived back at the flat Sherlock had finally moved. The pale detective sat in the living room, typing away furiously on his laptop. John called out a greeting as he entered, but per usual he was ignored. With a sigh he hauled the cooler into the kitchen, placing it carefully next to the fridge.

After a few seconds of fidgeting with it, John successfully plugged it in and turned it on. The cooler started up, letting off a soft whirring sound. John looked down at it, pleased with himself. 

“Sherlock, come over here.”

“I’m busy.”

“Oh for bloody sakes, just get over here.” John snapped.

Sherlock let out a loud sigh, pointedly slamming his laptop shut. Jumping out of his seat he shuffled over to John, staring at him intently. A questioning look on his face. 

“For you.” John pointed at the cooler, puffing out his chest.

“Mmm?” Sherlock looked down, staring at the cooler. He was silent for a few seconds, the only give away of his reaction being the widening of his eyes. John watched as Sherlock analyzed it, his eyes flickering between the fridge and the cooler.

“This is for…” 

“Your body parts Sherlock. Get them out of the bloody fridge.”

“John, what an unnecessary purchase.” Sherlock drawled out. 

“I disagree. “ John opened the cooler, showing off the three racks it had inside, “Fridge is for food, not body parts.” 

John could tell the detective disagreed, but he nodded begrudgingly, a sudden dull pink color crossing his cheeks. “Thanks for… that.”

“Are you... are you blushing?”

“No!” Sherlock exclaimed, turning on his heel. He rushed back to the living room, resuming his spot with the laptop on his lap. There were a few minutes of silence. John played around with the cooler, making sure it was set at the right temperature. He glanced at the fridge, debating if he should move the body parts right now. He decided it was a job better done by the detective.

“Thank you for the cooler, nobody has ever… bought me anything for the body parts.” Sherlock piped up, his voice a half-whisper, making John strain to hear him. Oh, so the detective was blushing because of a cooler, for bloody body parts? John rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. What has his life become that he was thinking about body parts in his fridge? 

“You are welcome, you git.” John chuckled, taking a seat opposite of Sherlock. They exchanged small smiles, holding each other's gaze a little longer than the usual flatmates. As quick as it happened, the moment was gone, and both men resumed their daily life. A pale detective furiously typing away and his loyal sidekick reading beside him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated, :)


End file.
